


Better You Than Me

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Dead Zone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-23
Updated: 2004-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:10:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1626029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dana and Bruce have their own ways of helping Johnny out. Conversationfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better You Than Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Lise

 

 

 

 

"Bruce, what are you doing here?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, man? I'm making breakfast."

"I can see that." Johnny glanced at the counter. He'd slept in a little. There wasn't that much to occupy his days recently. When he'd heard the sounds coming from downstairs, he'd momentarily thought it was a burglar, but he doubted burglars made toast on the job. The toaster itself was smoking gently.   
"It's amazing what a remarkable resemblance making breakfast bears to destroying my kitchen."

"Hey, the toaster started it."

Johnny clomped over to the toaster. "That's because you have it set to bagel," he pointed out. "And the highest setting, at that. I'm surprised it didn't burst into flames."

"Are you crazy, having it set up so high?" Bruce shook his head. "You should know there's no middle ground for toasters. It's either crispy or not even warm."

"They say everyone has to eat a pound of soot in their lifetime," Johnny pointed out, getting out two mugs as the coffeemaker bubbled and steamed its way to the finish.

"Yeah, well, they didn't mean all at once, you hear what I'm saying?" Abandoning the toaster to its fate, Bruce put some slices of bread on the side of the plates he had set out and returned his watchful gaze to the frying pan to make sure the eggs weren't tempted into conflagration to join their fellow carbohydrates in cinders.

Johnny finished making the coffee and held one out for Bruce. "Thanks, man, leave it on the counter," Bruce said. He poked at the frying pan with the spatula. It hissed at him.

"I guess you're not much of an Atkins diet man," Johnny said, indicating the frying pan.

"You know how much that man weighed when he died? You could have scraped out his arteries and had enough lard to bake a dozen pies. I don't follow anybody's crazy plan unless I see them doing it first. Saves on stupidity."

"Mm-hmm." Johnny let that pass with nothing more than a quirk of the eyebrow, sipping his coffee to conceal his grin. He leaned back unobtrusively against the kitchen counter. His leg ached the most right after getting up and before heading to bed, but it didn't feel polite to sit down like a diner waiting to be served. It would be too much like casting Bruce in the role of waiter.

Bruce, however, was trained in recognizing pain and in handling recalcitrant patients, so before Johnny quite knew what was going on he found himself sitting down with a plate in front of him and Bruce stopping to take a token bit out of his own breakfast before popping back up to check on the frypan, making small talk the entire time with relentless cheerfulness.

Johnny looked at his breakfast. It did look good. He took a bite of the eggs but hadn't quite enough time to enjoy the flavour before the familiar rushing sensation swept him away.

"Too much pepper?" Bruce asked.

As always, Johnny wondered what his face must look like when he was away from it. "A vision," he said, bringing himself all the way back. The visions always left him fleetingly uncertain of whether he was fully in his body or not when he came back.

"Let me guess," Bruce said dryly, "their momma is in danger."

"What?"

Bruce pointed at the eggs on Johnny's plate.

"No. An animal rights activist. She seems to have snuck into the building wee the chickens are kept, intending to free them."

"And?"

"And chicken farms aren't exactly the cleanest of places," Johnny said grimly. "Especially when they're run without much of a care towards cleanliness. Let's just say that before she got very far on her mission she was overcome by the- fumes."

"Eww," Bruce said. "Say no more."

"We'd better call Walt. She's already unconscious- it can't be healthy for her to stay there much longer."

"Right, right." Bruce reached for the phone while Johnny started towards the door to get his boots on. "You may want to get dressed first," Bruce called.  
Johnny looked down at himself. He had his old bathrobe tied around him and pajama pants on. "Right," he said, and headed back upstairs.

The unconscious Kara Whyte was dragged out of one of Yamano's Fine Poultry box-like chicken buildings. Johnny had to enter each to identify if it corresponded with his vision. By the end of it he was beginning to sympathize with her sentiments. The building itself was little more than a giant packing-crate, with cage upon cage of chickens stacked on each other on either side. The only clear space was a tiny corridor in between, in which the waste was piled in mounds. The only thing resembling ventilation was the opening and closing of the door, an event that was fairly rare, as Johnny's nose attested. The whole bottom halves of the chickens themselves were brown and clumped from having to lie in the filthy straw. There wasn't enough room in the cages for them to turn around or make more than a token effort at cleaning themselves.

Once Kara was out in the fresh air, she proceeded from unconscious to woozy to righteous in short order. As Walt was reading Yamano, the proprietor, the riot act, she started in. "Chickens are people too," she said passionately. "Did you see those poor things in there?"

"Don't worry. He'll be fined heavily for not conforming to health regulations," Walt assured her.

"Health regulations! Sheriff, this is an abuse of their rights!"

"They're chickens."

"What about the people he makes work in these conditions? What about me?"

"You, miss, committed illegal entry. You'll be facing separate charges."

"I did you a favour. You'd never know about this place if it wasn't for me."

"You," Walt said with great patience, "very nearly became the girl who was killed by chickenshit. If you don't want that reputation to spread, I suggest you not tell your PETA friends about this experience. I will try to get you community service and no charges laid against your permanent record. If, that is, you stop arguing right now."

Yamano and Kara both started protesting. "I do nothing wrong," Yamano was saying. "You see where eggs come from? You eat them anyway. How this different?"

"He's a jailer! Those chickens should be running free!"

"There's a reason I'm glad of being freelance," Johnny said, watching from the sidelines. "It means we can get going while he has to stay and deal with this."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Bruce said. He walked around to the driver's seat. "Shall we get back to breakfast?"

"Sure," Johnny agreed.

Almost as soon as they'd gotten back on the road Johnny's cellphone rang. The caller ID identified it as Dana. He answered, wondering what she could want.   
"Yes?"

"Johnny Smith," Dana said. She seemed to enjoy saying his name. He wasn't sure if he liked that. It seemed very proprietary, somehow. "I wonder if you'd be willing to grant an interview today. You know, show the human side of the psychic wonderboy."

"I wasn't aware I had an inhuman side," he said dryly.

"I would have said superhuman, but I didn't think you had a problem with your ego," she countered. "Come on. Today of all days."

"There's nothing special about today, barring the chickenshit girl, and the only person you have a chance of getting her story from is Walt," he said firmly. Beside him, Bruce perked up with interest.

"Chickenshit girl?" she repeated, incredulously. "...It's not even nine yet!"

"I lead a fascinating life," he agreed. He glanced over. Bruce was making the cut the phone call off sign with one hand. Either that or he was threatening to kill Johnny for forcing him to track through a chicken farm without breakfast.  
"Yeah, I'll call you later," he said to Dana, not hearing what she said at the other end. He hung up. "Yes?"

"Uh-uh, I declare today reporter-free," Bruce said. "I don't want anybody hearing about my glamourous adventures in detection"

They pulled into Johnny's street. Johnny had time enough to recognize Reverend Purdy's limousine in the driveway and then Bruce was driving past.

"Bruce!" he protested

"Nuh-uh. No way I'm spending today chit-chatting with the Reverend. He doesn't approve of me anyway. Thinks I don't keep you on a tight enough leash."

"I don't think Reverend Purdy will be happy until he's got a collar around my neck," Johnny said, feeling both guilty and relieved, like he was back in high school and skipping a boring class.

"Now there's a scary idea," Bruce said. "Father Johnny."

"I didn't mean that kind of collar," Johnny snapped. "Anyway, I wouldn't be that bad."

"Be serious. 'Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.' 'Oh my, you certainly have, haven't you? Jeepers. I don't know if I can forgive your doing that behind the sacristy...'"

"Thank you, that's enough." Johnny peered out the window. "I wouldn't say jeepers."

"In an universe where you could become a priest, you could say jeepers," Bruce said firmly.

"Now where are we going?"

"For a hike. I'd had it planned anyway, we'll just be getting a headstart."

"And my poor abandoned breakfast?"

"We'll find a replacement," Bruce said. He nodded at the cellphone. "How about you turn that off, though? I think the world can do without you for a couple of hours."

Johnny shrugged. It made sense to him. After a while, Reverend Purdy would try to call him to find out where he was anyway.

As they headed further along the highway, Johnny kept a weather eye out for diners. "How about that one?" he said, pointing one out.

"Bad hash browns," Bruce said, dismissing it.

About five minutes later he pulled into a mom and pop kind of place. "Now here's what I'm talking about," he declared. "We can definitely get something good here."

"Yeah, I think it's called botulism." Johnny said. He ran a finger over the table. It came away black.

"Be nice. I know the folk that run this place." Bruce waved at the woman behind the counter. "Hey, Wanda! Good to see you again!"

"Right," she said, unconvinced. "What can I do you for?"

"Two of your famous special breakfasts," he said, grinning widely. "Hey, where's that kid of yours?"

"You know Derek?"

"He comes and plays at the Youth Center where I volunteer sometimes. Is he around?"

"Yeah, sure." Wanda turned her head and bellowed towards the kitchen, "Derek!"  
A sullen boy of about fourteen stumbled out, his greasy hair pushed back by a visor but nothing resembling a hairnet. "Yeah?"

"Those guys want to talk to you," Wanda told him, and trundled off into the kitchen, presumably to start the specials.

Derek came and stood in front of the counter, shifting from foot to foot. "Good to see you," Bruce repeated, and stuck out his hand. Derek shook it with a bewildered air. "This is my friend, John Smith."

Derek offered his hand, and Johnny reached out to shake it, but before his hand had completely closed around the boy's he was swept away by another vision, this time of Derek hanging off the concrete slope of a manmade ravine. His skateboard was falling away from him, towards the rock-bottomed creek below, and Derek himself was about to follow. A gang of boys was standing on the bridge over the ravine. They had been cheering but were now starting to jeer. Johnny saw Derek's hand begin to slip its hold...

"You'd better forget about trying to impress those older boys at your school," Johnny said abruptly. "It only ends in injury. Besides," he shook his way through the vision again, trying to identify the one face in the vision that had been truly worried, "you don't need to impress Cassie. She already likes you. She's just waiting for you to do something."

Derek shook his way free and backed away. "You're that guy!" he blurted. "The psychic one!"

Johnny sighed and threw an annoyed glance at Bruce. "Yes," he said. "So a warning from me should carry some weight. Why don't you try inviting Cassie to a movie on Friday night?" He didn't mention the ravine. If anybody had specifically told him not to do something at Derek's age, he would have broken the sound barrier in his speed to get started.

However, Friday night was the night he'd seen Derek falling to his doom. It stood to reason that if he could keep him away from the ravine that night, the accident would be averted.

"She likes me? Really?" Derek said, half to himself, and shucked out of his apron like a piece of corn deciding it was too hot. He threw the apron over one of the stools set up by the counter, called a goodbye to his mother, and was out the door, whistling. Johnny caught him pausing at the door and checking his hair in the reflection.

"Derek!" Wanda called when she heard the door slam. She came back out of the kitchen. "Where did he get off to?"

"To see a girl, I think," Johnny said.

"I thought you boys said you knew my Derek. He wouldn't dare try anything with a girl unless he knew for sure he wouldn't get shot down. He's got about the same amount of guts as a starved squirrel." She sniffed. "Well, I'll get your breakfasts started then. I'm really better at the lunch stuff, but without Derek here we'll just have to muddle through."

At this point in her peroration, the sharp burnt-butter stink of an overheated frypan came wafting through from the kitchen,

Johnny sighed.

After an unsatisfying breakfast, they headed back out. "Onwards!" Bruce remarked cheerfully. Johnny tried to clean the last bits of bacon fat out of his teeth. It was hard. They were slippery. "A hike now, right?"

"Yup. I know just the spot."

"Let me guess, it's covered in bears."

"Don't be grumpy now. You'll like it."

An hour and a half later at the ledge overlooking a small lake, Johnny had to agree. There was a certain satisfaction in being able to push his body this far, and if he'd had to rely a little heavily on his cane on some of the more uphill sections, well, that was what it was there for, right?

His leg buckled. He tried to catch himself on something, but nothing was in reach. He slid down the slope, one hand reaching out to catch a little rock half-sticking out of the tiny cliffside. "Bruce!" he called.

Bruce, a little behind him on the trail, hurried up. "Can you give me a hand here" Johnny gritted. His hand was getting slippery with sweat.

Bruce hung back for a moment. "Maybe if you think positive thoughts..." he suggested.

"This is not physical therapy, Bruce!" Johnny said. "This is physical danger."

Sighing, Bruce offered him a hand.

The minute Johnny touched it, he realized why Bruce had been trying to avoid touching him all day- from asking him to put the coffee down on the counter to avoiding handing him anything. And why he'd been so keen on getting Johnny out of the house and out of circulation.

When he'd been pulled safely up, he caught his breath for a moment, sitting well away from the edge that had proven itself so treacherous. "So," he said carefully. "It's been a year already."

"I should have known I can't keep anything from you," Bruce complained.

"Yes. You should have," Johnny said, not placing any particular emphasis on it.  
"I guess you want to be getting back now, huh?"

"Not right away," Johnny said. "There's somewhere I'd like to go now. If you wouldn't mind playing chauffeur one more time."

"Sure, man."

The cemetery was busier than he'd thought it would be.

All around him were scattered families paying respects to members who had been cut off from them too soon. He was just the same, he supposed.

He knelt down and traced the name carved in the headstone. Now that he was down, he'd be there for a while, so he gathered his thoughts. Bruce stood back at the car, waiting for Johnny, uncomplaining.

"Hi, Mom," he said softly. "It's been a while, hasn't it? I guess today should have been the day I thought about you, and I'm sorry I was so distracted. I've been pretty busy with one thing and another..." He sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. "It all started this way..." he began, and started telling his mother how his year had been.

After a while, he stood up, sighed, and began heading back to the car. As he approached, Bruce shoved his hands in his pockets.

"We going to talk about this?" Johnny asked.

Bruce shrugged. "I knew my plan would be blown at some stage. I pity the poor guy who ever tries to arrange a surprise party for you," he added.

"Why do it?"

"Look, I know on the anniversary of someone's death, you want to grieve for them. But trust me, Johnny, you've got enough gloom and doom in your life already."

"I wasn't aware that was your call to make."

"I'm your friend, John," Bruce said quietly.

Johnny sighed. "It feels- disrespectful, somehow, that I was going around just like it was a normal day."

"What would you have preferred? Being sandbagged by a reporter on a day that should be quiet grief and celebration and spending the rest of the day running around in a haze of pure brood? Or how about swapping anecdotes with the Reverend?"

"He loved my mother," Johnny flashed. "If I can't give him any other credit, at least there's that."

"Doesn't mean you want to be yoked to him today. Look at what you did today, Johnny. You helped two kids. You got out. You saw the world. You proved you're still alive, still connected. I didn't know your mother, but I hope that's what she'd want for you."

"Have you lost somebody close to you?" Johnny asked, a bit calmer.

Bruce shrugged. "If you mean am I just trying out my theories on you, no. I know what death is like, Johnny. And I know what life is like."

"Thanks," Johnny said, staring straight ahead.

"You want to head back to your house?" Bruce asked.

"No. I think I'd prefer spending a little more time outside," Johnny said. "Mom always loved the outdoors."

"All right," Bruce said.

"And Bruce?"

"Yeah?"

"How about you buy me dinner somewhere lively?"

Bruce smiled. "Excuse me? Who slaved over your breakfast this morning?"

"I never got to eat the breakfast," Johnny pointed out.

"It's not my fault you've got freaky psychic webcams in your fingertips," Bruce said. "Anyway, I found you a replacement."

"I think your replacement may well be destroying my inner organs as we speak," Johnny said. "How did you know Derek was going to do something stupid, anyway?"

"Didn't for sure. But I haven't seen him around the Youth Center recently. Generally, that means either they've fallen in with a girl or with the wrong crowd. And kids are always going to do something stupid."

"You're a devious man."

"With you, I have to be."

Johnny flipped his cellphone open. "Just let me take care of something first," he said.

Dana picked up on the third ring. "Yes?"

"Dana. Johnny Smith."

"Johnny Smith." There she went again. "You decided to come out from the Fortress of Solitude?"

"Something like that," he said. "Care to tell me why today is a good day for doing interviews?"

"Oh, you know..." she waffled.

"Actually, I don't," he said. "Unless you mean it's the anniversary of my mother's death. But I was hoping you'd be above trying to catch me at a moment of emotional weakness."

"You have to go assuming, don't you?" she said.

Not for the first time, he wished his gift could work over the phoneline, but apparently it needed a slightly more solid connection.

He was punning. Never a good sign.

"I don't want to assume, but events keep forcing it on me," he said, keeping his voice calm. "Do you have a better explanation?"

"I just didn't think today was a good day for you to be alone."

"You could have called as a friend," he said gently. "Not as a reporter."

"I didn't want you to misunderstand," she said, voice stiff.

He leaned back and closed his eyes. "Dana, sometimes I think all we ever do is misunderstand each other." He shot a glance at Bruce, who was carefully not listening. "The thought is appreciated."

"Oh," she said in a small voice.

"I'm not doing an interview, though," he added.

"Well, if you want that to count, you have to say 'off the record' at the beginning of the conversation," she said, voice lightening.

"Mm," he said noncommittally. He glanced over at Bruce. "I wonder would you like to come out for dinner with Bruce and I?"

Bruce shrugged.

"Sure," she said, after a brief pause. One day, Johnny told himself, he would have to find out exactly why Dana didn't think she was worth being treated nicely. "We'll swing by and meet you at the office, then," he said.

"You're not going to tell me 'off the record?'"

"I like to trust people until they prove I can't," he said. "Is that so bad?"

"Your call," she said.

Briefly, Johnny felt a great sense of balancing around him, Dana on the phone, Bruce beside him, both in their own ways trying to look out for him. It was a fragile moment, but one he treasured nonetheless.

"See you there" he said into the phone, ending the conversation, and smiled at Bruce.

"Shall we?"

 

 

 


End file.
